A Love Against All Odds
by Jules3
Summary: The fifth (and possibly final) chapter. (A C&M story from another era.)
1. Chapter One: Hired Help

HELLO AGAIN... I'M BACK. (BE AFRAID.) LOL... ANYWAY... SUMMER VACATION!! WOOHOO!!! THIS IS AN IDEA THAT I GOT WHILE WATCHING "A KNIGHT'S TALE" LAST NIGHT... NOT THAT THIS, IN ANY WAY, HAS TO DO WITH KNIGHTS, JOUSTING, OR HEATH LEDGER (YUM), BUT I THOUGHT THAT A PERIOD FIC WOULD BE COOL. YA KNOW, LIKE ONE THAT TAKES PLACE A LONG TIME AGO (AND BY A LONG TIME AGO, I DON'T MEAN XMAS 1987, LOL.) ANYWAY... PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF IT, AND IF YOU HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS FOR THIS OR FOR ANY OF MY FICS, FEEL FREE TO E-MAIL ME OR JUST PUT IT IN A REVIEW! PART FOUR OF "FEAR" AND PART TWO OF "THE POWER OF WONDERING" COMING SOON TO A FIC SITE NEAR YOU! (NAMELY, THIS FIC SITE.) :-) AND BY THE WAY... FOUR DAYS 'TILL A CERTAIN WEDDING!! YAY!!!  
  
DISCLAIMER: THE CHARACTERS PORTRAYED IN THIS FIC DO NOT BELONG TO ME. NOT IN REALITY, ANYWAY. DREAMS ARE ANOTHER MATTER.  
  
Background: This fic takes place in New York in 1892 and is only intended as a work of fiction. Any parallels to other persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. (Although that would be cool, in that it'd make me kind of psychic... hmmm.... realizes people are staring.) ::Clearing throat:: Anyway, the Gellers are a highly respected family... Mr. Geller is a wealthy business tycoon and Mrs. Geller is a housewife (as I think most women of noble status were in those days). Monica and Ross are... well, their children. (Bet you didn't see that coming.) The rest of the characters will be introduced in due course... I am not yet sure of Phoebe and Joey's role in this fic, but it will get figured out as I go along.   
  
Love Against All Odds  
  
Chapter One  
  
"This couldn't come at a worse time," Judy Geller sighed as she sat in the front room of her house with her husband. "I mean, really, with Monica's debut coming up and Ross preparing for college, I could have done without having to find another maid." Jack Geller took a sip of his brandy.  
"Don't fret, dear," he said comfortingly as he turned the page of his newspaper. "Bessie isn't the only available help. She can be replaced." Judy sighed again.  
"I know. It's just that she's leaving tomorrow. What am I going to do until we find a replacement?" Jack put the paper down and leaned back thoughtfully.  
"Well, the smaller tasks Monica can help you with, and I'll go downtown first thing in the morning and look into finding a replacement, all right?" Judy nodded agreeably as her husband picked up the paper once again. The idea of doing household chores herself sickened her, and she hoped that Jack would find a suitable replacement soon.  
  
"How did it go?" Judy asked hopefully when Jack returned home the next evening.   
"Quite well, in fact," he replied with a smile. "Apparently John Delaney has been letting some of his help go since the children have moved out. Why, just yesterday he decided to dismiss a woman who had been working for him for about two years. She comes highly recommended, and she also has a son. John says the boy is quite adept at keeping his land and making the property look presentable." Judy nodded slowly.  
"And the woman?"  
"John said that Charlotte was very happy with her," he replied. "Apparently her husband ran off and left her with the boy when he was quite young." Judy shook her head and made a "tsk tsk" sound.  
"Honestly, those people," she said with her ever-present air of superiority. "Well, I suppose we should call the woman and make the arrangements. She can sleep in Bessie's old room, and the boy can have the old butler's quarters downstairs. It hasn't been cleaned since Jeffrey left, but a quick cleaning and it'll do." She turned to leave the room and paused momentarily. "What is the woman's name, anyhow?"  
"Nora," Jack replied after a moment. "Nora Tyler." After another pause he scratched his head. "Son has a strange name. Something beginning with a 'C.'" He shrugged. "Well, we'll find out tomorrow. I told John to send her around so that we can meet her." Judy nodded, thankful that he'd been so quick in finding help and that she wouldn't have to do any more housework than she'd done already.  
  
"Monica, dear, do sit up straight," Judy commented. "Honestly, you look like an old spinster when you hunch over like that." Monica obliged wordlessly. She was used to her mother's criticisms, and while she took them with a grain of salt, she never allowed the comments to upset her. She smoothed the front of her frock carefully as she sat on the bench in the den awaiting the arrival of the new maid. She wished she could go back to reading her book, but she knew that giving all guests, regardless of their status, a proper welcome was something that her mother insisted upon. As she sat on the green velvet bench, she allowed her mind to drift back to the story she had been engrossed in before her father summoned her downstairs. While her mother said that no good ever came of reading and that girls should simply see to household and family duties, Monica couldn't help herself when it came to books. Even when she was younger she would take Ross's books when he was done reading them and read them herself. She'd always been envious that he'd gotten to continue with his schooling. When she'd turned sixteen, her mother had said that since she wouldn't be going to college, there was really no point in her continuing her education. More than anything, Monica wanted to go to college and live an educated life. The idea of living as her mother had, subservient to her husband's wishes and demands, was something that made her feel trapped, and she dreaded the day when she would be married. Most of the girls her age, especially her best friend Rachel, looked forward to being married and starting a family. In Monica's eyes it was a form of imprisonment, and while she had tried to convince her parents that it would be worthwhile for her to continue learning, they had thought it absurd and had put a stop to her "ridiculous ideas." She was painfully aware of the fact that they planned to marry her off to Peter Becker, a wealthy banker whose father had been a good friend of Jack Geller's. In her parents' minds, he was perfect for their only daughter: rich and successful and of a high esteem. The fact that she didn't love him and could barely even tolerate him was of no concern to them. She was brought back to reality when she heard the doorbell chime and she rose politely to greet their new residents.  
"John!" she heard her father say when he opened the door.  
"Afternoon, Jack," came the reply. Jack stood back and held open the door so that the people on the other side could enter. Monica tried inconspicuously to crane her neck so that she could see them, but not obviously enough to make herself appear unrefined. She noted out of the corner of her eye the way in which her brother straightened his tie and straightened his jacket and she couldn't help feeling a certain amount of contempt toward him. Although he was her brother and she loved him, it got on her nerves the way he bought into all the social-class business. He was the kind of guy for whom she held a somewhat strong resentment simply because he refused to look past the lines of status, but in spite of this, she loved him anyway. When she was younger and would get muddy running around and would ruin one of her frilly dresses, he would sneak her back into the house and help her get cleaned up so that her parents wouldn't notice. When she stole her dad's pipe to play with and broke it, Ross took the blame for her. Still, sometimes she wished that he could be a little less arrogant. Her contempt for the social life and his embracement of it had created somewhat of a rift between them, and although it was a small one, she hated the fact that she was the black sheep of the family. "This is Nora." Her thoughts were interrupted once again by John Delaney's voice. She watched intently as a woman lugging a couple of bags entered the house. She was small, no taller than five and a half feet, with light blond hair. She smiled at Jack as he helped her with the bags and she straightened.  
"Hello, Nora," Jack said. "Welcome to our home. This is my wife, Judy." Nora shook the woman's hand and offered a small smile. She was always nervous around new people, especially new people of the Gellers' high class. "Those are our children, Monica and Ross." Nora nodded and smiled in their direction. She turned to indicate behind her as a young man cautiously entered with a few bags slung over his shoulders and a couple more in his arms. He carefully placed the bags besides the others that had already been brought in, and Monica noted that he was quite well-built and tan, she assumed from working outside on the Delaney property.  
"This is my son, Chandler," Nora introduced. He nodded toward Mr. and Mrs. Geller and then toward Ross and Monica. When he first noticed Monica, he inadvertently allowed his gaze to linger on her a moment longer than he had on any of the others. She was beautiful, and not just average beautiful like most of the city girls. He quickly averted his gaze so as not to seem rude and he ran his hand nervously through his hair, figuring that this one was probably no different from the rest: snobby and shallow.   
"Well, Nora, why don't you let Judy show you around the house and I'll take Chandler to his room?" Jack suggested. Nora nodded agreeably and picked up her suitcases.  
"I'll bring them for you, Mom," Chandler assured her, gently taking the bag from her grasp. "You just go get settled and I'll bring them up in a minute." Nora smiled gratefully and followed Judy up the stairs as Chandler turned and followed Jack toward what would be his room. Monica couldn't help smiling at how kind he seemed and although she wouldn't quite allow herself to admit it, he was quite handsome as well.   
  
"Can I get you anything?" Monica asked timidly after she had knocked on Chandler's door. He opened it and smiled kindly.  
"No, I'm quite well, thank you, miss." Monica smiled and shifted her weight slightly.   
"Is the room all right?" Chandler glanced around at the dim room and nodded.  
"Yep, it's great." Monica nodded and just before she turned to leave, her eyes fell on a book that was sitting on his small bed.  
"You like Chaucer?" she asked, slightly surprised. She'd never met a person of hired help who read much. Bessie hadn't even known how to read anything more than cooking ingredients and basic things necessary in housekeeping. Chandler nodded.  
"I've just finished the 'Canterbury Tales,'" he replied. "That was an excellent work. It started off with a knight--" He was cut off by Monica's indignant voice.  
"I know, I read it." He looked at her skeptically.  
"YOU read Chaucer?" She could feel a slightly irritated flush creeping up her neck.  
"Why do you sound so surprised? Surely you don't think that simply because I'm a woman I can't read." His silence and half-amused look only irritated her further. "Typical," she muttered. "Thinks just like a typical man." With that, she turned on her heel and walked huffily away. Chandler tried to hide the grin that had spread across his face, but he failed miserably. He gently closed the door of his room and collapsed back onto the small bed and stared at the ceiling, a tiny smile still playing on his lips. Although they hadn't had an extremely significant encounter, there was something about her that was different from the Delaney daughters, as well as from virtually every other girl in their circle. When she spoke he noticed a sparkle in her eyes and from her comments on Chaucer it was obvious that she was far from a flake. He grinned as he remembered how riled she'd gotten when she had assumed that his remark was a chauvinistic one.   
"Perhaps I misjudged Miss Geller," he mused aloud as he rose to see what work needed to be done before supper.   
  
"Chaucer?" Monica was interrupted from her reading by a voice, and as she squinted into the sun to see who was speaking, she had to force herself not to groan.  
"Thoreau," she replied shortly. "'Walden Pond.'"  
"Another great one," he said, lowering himself to sit next to her under the shady oak. She stared at him for a moment before speaking coolly.  
"Shouldn't you be raking or something?" She herself hated how arrogant that sounded, but she told herself that she really couldn't care less what this boy thought. The fact that he didn't retaliate only annoyed her more. Instead, he offered her a lopsided grin and ran his hand through his hair. She had noticed over the course of the past few days that it seemed to be a habit of his.  
"Nah, not really," he replied as he glanced around at the corner of the property. "Done. Taking a break before I start painting." Monica nodded slightly and looked back at her book, trying subtly to hint that she wished for him to leave. It turned out to be a hint that he apparently either didn't get or chose to ignore. "So, Miss Geller, what other books have you read?" It sounded like a challenge, and the playful and amused look in his eyes confirmed it as such.  
"Name something," she replied coolly.  
"A Tale of Two Cities."  
"Read it," she replied curtly. He raised an eyebrow.  
"The Odyssey."  
"That one, too." He grinned and paused before speaking again.   
"What'd you think of it?" She looked at him carefully to see if he was teasing her again, but he seemed to be genuinely interested.  
"I thought it was excellent," she said after a moment. "The way the stories of gods and men were intertwined and the way so many little parts make it whole. And the part with the meeting between Penelope and her husband..." She trailed off and dropped her gaze to the ground, blushing. "I liked it," she said quietly.  
"Me, too," he replied kindly. "And I know what you mean about the gods and the men... I love reading about the mythological stuff like that." When she noted the way in which he didn't tease her, most of her contempt for him seemed to fly away. She looked cautiously back up at him and smiled when she saw that he was once again offering her his warm lopsided grin. "I'm sorry about the other day," he said after a moment, still smiling. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't read because you're a woman. I was simply surprised... I mean, the Delaney girls never read anything more than letters and I most certainly never even saw Mrs. Delaney pick up a book."  
"Yes, well, the Delaney girls are shallow," Monica replied curtly, immediately blushing as she did so. "I'm sorry, that was rude." Chandler laughed and shook his head.  
"No, not rude. Very, very correct, in fact." Monica smiled appreciatively. "Listen," he said after a moment. "If you ever want to borrow a book, I have quite a few. I mean, you might have read them all, but I know that I'm always trying to get my hands on ones that I haven't already read..." He trailed off, and it was his turn to blush. He suddenly realized that he was out of line sitting under a tree with his boss's daughter acting as if they were equals. He stood abruptly, making some excuse about having to begin painting. Almost as if she were reading his mind, Monica smiled.  
"Yes, well, I'd love to trade books sometime," she said affably. He offered the same cocky grin that she couldn't help liking and nodded as he headed toward the house to get the paint. As she watched him go, Monica couldn't help smiling. Finally she had someone to discuss intelligent topics with, even if it WAS the hired help. She shook her head, reprimanding herself. That was exactly the type of attitude that she detested in other people, and sometimes she found it creeping into her own life. She picked up her book once again and although she tried desperately to focus on it, she found her mind dancing between the words and Chandler's smile.  
  
As he painted the side of Mr. Geller's shed, Chandler's mind drifted back to Monica. There was just something about her that was different from any of the other girls he'd come across. There was no doubt about the fact that she was beautiful -- her jet-black hair, while always tied back neatly, contrasted with her pale skin and rosy cheeks. There was a twinkle in her sky blue eyes that made it impossible for him to resist bantering with her, and the way she blushed only made her more beautiful. Apart from her looks, though, there was something else -- something much deeper. More than simply her literary habits, she was bright, and it was as though there was a constant fight going on within her own mind that he could clearly witness. While she obviously held matters of class in contempt, she struggled to always be polite and well-mannered. He thought it seemed that while she wanted to be able to break down barriers, she did not wish to be seen as unsophisticated or crude, and it was a combination that he found endearing. He shook his head slightly as he resumed the brushstrokes. "Don't even think about it," he warned himself, knowing fully well how out-of-the-question it was for him to even entertain the thought of someone like Monica Geller as attainable.   
  
He opened his door the next evening and smiled easily when he saw Monica on the other side. "Miss Geller."  
"Hello, Chandler." Monica stood uneasily, the lantern in her hand illuminating his features. In the warm light, she noted again how handsome he was and she blushed, averting her gaze. "I, um, finished 'Walden Pond.'" Chandler nodded. "Have you read it?"  
"Actually, no," he replied, still smiling. She extended the book toward him and he accepted it graciously. "Thank you. Would you like to come in and see if I have any that would interest you?" Monica looked at him skeptically, knowing how inappropriate it would be of her to enter a man's bedroom, even a man of a lower class. Suddenly feeling defiant at being restrained, she nodded nervously and stepped inside the small space. There was a lantern on the small bedside stand and it cast a warm glow about the room. Her eyes fell on a small shelf that held many books, and she looked at him evenly. He indicated toward the shelf and grinned. "Help yourself." She smiled back at him and walked slowly toward the small library. After scanning his collection, she timidly removed one and looked at it curiously.  
"'Huckleberry Finn?'" She looked up at him and he knelt beside her.  
"Yes, that's my newest one. It was only first published seven years ago. The same man who wrote 'Tom Sawyer.' Personally, I prefer this one. Maybe because it delves into the matters of status." He threw a sideways glance at her, and noticed a flicker in her eyes and briefly wondered what it meant. His comment seemed to seal the deal, though, and she looked at him like a child who had found a treasure.   
"May I borrow this one then?" He grinned.  
"Of course." She smiled back and tucked the book gently under her arm. "Thank you, Chandler."  
"You're welcome, Miss Geller." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.  
"You know, I'd really like it if you would call me Monica." He looked at her skeptically.  
"Well, I don't know how anyone else would feel about that," he said carefully.  
"I don't care how anyone else would feel about that," she retorted, her fiery spirit showing itself once again.  
"Well," he said quietly, "I don't want to upset people, or to lose my job." She looked at him silently for a moment.  
"Well, when we are alone then? When no one else is about will you call me Monica?" He smiled, saying nothing. "If not," she threatened, "I shall resort to calling you 'Mr. Tyler.'"  
"That would be slightly wrong," he said, trying to hide a grin. She looked at him challengingly. "My surname isn't Tyler," he explained. "It's Bing."  
"Bing?" she repeated, confused. He nodded.  
"Yeah, Chandler Bing. Quite a mouthful, I know. Bing was my father's surname, and when he left it was just easier to keep my own name." Monica blushed, uncomfortable at bringing up such a personal subject, and she dropped her eyes to the ground.  
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Her peripheral vision noticed him shrug nonchalantly and she looked up.  
"Don't worry about it," he said, continuing after a moment. "Okay... Monica. I will refer to you as such when no one else is around." She smiled, happy at having won, and nodded.  
"Thank you. Goodnight, Chandler."  
"Goodnight, Monica." She smiled again and left his room quietly, tiptoeing back up the stairs so as not to wake her family or Nora. As she took off her dressing gown, leaving her only in her nightdress, she crawled into bed and set the lantern on her bedside table and then picked up the book Chandler had given her. She opened it to the first page and frowned as a small leaf of folded paper fell out. As she picked it up and opened it, she blushed and then smiled broadly as she read it. "I knew you'd pick this one, Miss Geller." He'd signed it across the bottom in a scrawling penmanship, and she felt goose bumps rise on her skin. The note itself had made her heart flutter, and she shivered again as she placed the book on her nightstand and blew out the lantern. She buried herself among the covers and smiled to herself in the darkness, glad to have found a companion in Chandler Bing. She found herself wishing that her parents were going to marry her off to someone like him who would appreciate her love for books and who would offer interesting conversation. She shook her head, embarrassed at her own thoughts, and closed her eyes in a vain attempt to go to sleep. "He's a land worker," she said to herself, yawning. But despite his social status, she knew that he was much more than that, and as she drifted off she found herself lost in images of his playful blue eyes and the way he ran his hand shyly through his sandy brown hair.  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two: A Newfound Confidante

HELLO AGAIN, AND WELCOME TO CHAPTER TWO OF "A LOVE AGAINST ALL ODDS." THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO LEFT A REVIEW FOR PART ONE... TO YOU AND TO EVERYONE ELSE... PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEZ GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I THRIVE ON IT. THANK YOU... IT'S MUCH APPRECIATED. GETTING NO FEEDBACK REALLY GIVES ME A COMPLEX. LOL. BUT SERIOUSLY, I REALLY LOVE TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE THINK, SO IF YOU COULD PLEASE JUST JOT DOWN A FEW WORDS IN THAT LITTLE BOX AT THE END, I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT! THANK YOU! ENJOY!  
  
Chapter Two  
  
As she watched him sawing the lower branches off an oak tree near the edge of her father's property, Monica couldn't help noticing how strong and capable he looked. His white undershirt was damp with sweat, and although she was too far to see for herself, she could picture the beads of sweat that surely glistened in the warm May sunshine. She watched as a branch crashed to the ground and Chandler jumped down from the ladder, dropping the saw to the ground and running his forearm across his brow. She tried to picture someone like Peter Becker sawing off branches, and she found that not only was it relatively impossible, the notion in itself was almost amusing. The idea that such a man as Mr. Becker would ever resort to doing manual labor was absurd; such tasks were of course suitable only for people of lower status. In Monica's mind, however, a man who could cut wood and paint sheds was far more interesting and certainly appealing than a man who sat around talking of nothing but banking and horseracing, and the type of man who wanted his women to listen but not to speak.   
As he arched his aching back, Chandler caught a glimpse of her sitting under what he assumed was her favorite tree, and as he did so he grinned without being able to help himself. It almost seemed as though she were trying to be within seeing distance of him at most opportunities, but it was a thought that he quickly pushed away. Monica was a Geller. She was one of those girls who could have any man she wanted. She would undoubtedly marry a man just like her father and would end up living just like her mother. Chandler shook his head, feeling strangely sad at the thought. While he often wished that he and his mother had more money, more for her sake than his own, he was rarely if ever jealous of the type of people for whom he worked. He'd never been envious of the type of life lived by the Ross Gellers and the Mark Delaneys of the world. Never, that is, until he realized that they were the ones who got to marry the Monica Gellers, and at that realization he was suddenly filled with envy. It was an envy that he almost felt was ridiculous, given the circumstances of its cause; after all, in what world would a man like him ever have a chance with a woman like her? Yet, at the same time, he knew that in some way he could offer her more than Peter Becker could. He could give her the chance to be a true person, and not simply an arm ornament for her husband. He would never allow the fiery spirit within her to be tamed -- instead, he would nourish it, being that he found it to be one of the characteristics about her that he loved the most. He knew all too well that the type of man she would undoubtedly be expected to marry would most certainly see her as an animal to be broken, thereby killing the fire in her heart and the sparkle in her eyes that made her what she was. He sighed again and bundled the branches together with twine, holding them under one arm and grabbing the ladder with his other. He made his way back toward the house, and each step took him closer to Monica, who was once again looking intently at the book in front of her.  
"How is it?" She looked up shyly and closed the book hesitantly, keeping her finger marking her page.  
"Wonderful." Chandler grinned as he hoisted the ladder higher on his hip.   
"I'm glad you like it. Well, I'd best be getting back to the house. Work is never done." He smiled again. "See you later, Monica." She simply nodded and watched his retreating figure, sighing. She was somewhat annoyed at her father for giving him so much to do -- he never had a free moment to talk. She shook her head, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course he had work to do -- that was his JOB. She silently rose and picked up the blanket she had been sitting on and the hat that had been beside her and made her way back to the house, pausing and sighing when she saw her best friend sitting in the kitchen talking with her mother through the window. While she and Rachel were almost close enough to be sisters, her friend's shallowness sometimes irritated her the same way that Ross's did. Rachel loved the parties and the socializing and didn't hold any of the same opinions as Monica. Yet, despite their numerous differences, Monica loved her, which was one of the reason that it didn't bother her much that it looked like Ross and Rachel would eventually be married. Mr. Green had spoken with Jack Geller about marrying Rachel to his son, and being that the Gellers were quite fond of Rachel, the proposition had gone over quite well. Ross had also been happy, given that Rachel was both beautiful and elegant, and Rachel had been happy because Ross was both well-off and distinguished. A perfect match, it seemed.  
"Hi, Rach," Monica said as she entered the kitchen.  
"Monica!" Rachel greeted as she rose from the table.  
"Monica, where on earth have you been?" her mother interrupted.  
"I was in the garden reading," Monica replied simply. Judy sighed and shook her head.  
"Honestly, there are so many things you could spend your time doing, why do you waste so many hours with your nose stuck in some book?"  
"I suppose I simply don't see them as wasted hours," she replied, and turned to Rachel, eager to escape the conversation. "Let's go into the sitting room," she suggested. Rachel nodded and turned to follow her.  
"You're going tomorrow night, right?" Rachel asked once they were seated in the other room.  
"To the Delaneys'?" Monica asked skeptically.  
"Yes. Oh, do come, Monica, it'll be fun."  
"Fun? A night spent with Katie and Ashley Delaney?" Rachel sighed.  
"Please? It won't only be them, there will be lots of people there. Peter Becker is going." Monica rolled her eyes.  
"Another reason not to go," she replied shortly.  
"Oh, Monica... I know you're not too fond of him, but you should at least give him a chance. Especially when, chances are, you'll probably end up married to him." Monica shook her head defiantly.  
"I will NOT marry someone I don't love," she said hotly.  
"Monica, how many people do you know who married someone they were actually in love with?"  
"Bessie and her new husband." Rachel rolled her eyes.  
"Yes, well, the poor can afford to marry for love." Monica looked at Rachel incredulously.  
"Well, in that case, I'm envious of the poor." Rachel stared at her for a moment, and realized that she would never win an argument with Monica, especially not one dealing with a topic that she knew her best friend felt strongly about.  
"Okay, well, anyway, you are coming tomorrow, right?" Monica sighed and nodded.  
"Yes, Mother already told them to expect both Ross and me." Rachel smiled.   
"Good. Well, I'd best be going, I told Daddy I'd be home in an hour. I'll see you tomorrow!" Mon nodded sullenly and let Rachel out, leaning against the door dejectedly. The idea of a night spent amid such superficial people filled her with a sense of dread, and she tried desperately to think of a way to get out of going, but she knew all too well that no excuse short of severe illness would save her. She sighed again and headed up the stairs to finish her book.  
  
Chandler sighed as he pulled off his shirt and looked at the scrape across his shoulder that he'd gotten from a branch that had snagged him on the way down. He gingerly touched it and immediately winced. He wondered where the Gellers kept clean rags and ointment as he dabbed it with his balled-up t-shirt. Suddenly there was a knock on his door and he opened it slightly to reveal Monica on the other side once again. She blushed slightly when she realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt, but hid it by smiling and extending his book toward him.  
"Finished already?" Chandler asked with a smile, only half-surprised. He'd only given it to her three days ago, but he knew how difficult it was to put a good book down. She nodded silently and smiled again. He opened the door a little bit wider to indicate toward his shelf, but before he could offer her another book, she noticed his shoulder.  
"Oh, Chandler, what happened?" she asked, the concern in her voice making it sound as though he'd lost his whole arm. He couldn't help grinning as he answered.  
"Branch. Wasn't too happy about being cut off, apparently." He shrugged nonchalantly, but was grateful when he realized that he could ask Monica if they had any clean rags.  
"Come with me, we should clean it."  
"Oh, don't worry, I can do it if you can just tell me where there are some rags and maybe some ointment." She looked at him evenly.  
"It reaches to between your shoulder blades. If you can reach that, you should be in a circus, not working our land." She smiled slightly and nodded toward the hallway. He followed her wordlessly, thankful that she had shown up.  
  
"Okay," she said a few moments later. "This may sting a little, but the alcohol will prevent any infections. Ready?" He nodded, immediately wincing as she poured the alcohol onto the wound. He turned his head away so that she wouldn't see the pained expression on his face. Knowing that it was burning, she leaned in and gently blew across the scratch, and as she did so he felt a shiver run down his spine. Once she had finished drying it, he felt her small fingers gently rubbing ointment in.  
"Thank you," he said quietly.  
"It's no problem," she replied as she put the cap back on the tube and covered the cut with gauze. "Does that feel okay?" He nodded as he turned to face her. He stared at her for a moment, allowing himself to get lost in her clear blue eyes, slightly saddened when she turned away and focused on wiping her hands on a clean rag. He smiled slightly.  
"You're going to be a good mother someday," he said quietly. "Must be that basic woman's instinct." Monica stared at him, surprised. His comment seemed so personal, and yet it didn't seem at all offensive or inappropriate.   
"Thank you," she said blushing, and then sighed.  
"I'm sorry," he apologized, rising from the kitchen table. "That was rude of me."  
"No," she said, looking up quickly. "Not at all! It's not that." He sat back down slowly, gazing at her.  
"May I ask what it is?" he asked gently. He felt as though he were prying into her privacy, but at the same time he knew that if there was something that she didn't want to tell him, Monica Geller would most certainly tell him to mind his own business. She sighed again and, after a moment of silence, looked at him evenly.  
"It's just... the idea of children isn't exactly a happy one when I imagine being married to someone I don't love." He stared at her, completely clueless as to what to say.  
"Someone in particular?" he asked carefully. She was silent for a moment as she looked at him, almost as though she were sizing him up with her eyes, debating whether or not he was worthy of her story.  
"Peter Becker," she answered eventually.  
"The banker Peter Becker?" he asked. She nodded, and he sighed. It was exactly how he had imagined it -- Monica, beautiful, lively, intelligent Monica, was to be married to dim-witted, dull, and arrogant Peter Becker.  
"I WON'T marry someone I don't love," she said boldly. Not knowing what to say, Chandler remained silent. In that moment she had revealed her fear, her strength, and her fire to him, and he wanted so badly to wrap his arms tightly around her, kiss her, and show her the love that she would never find in someone like Peter Becker, but he knew he couldn't. He played absently with the tube of ointment as his mind whirled, and he spoke quietly after a moment.  
"Love is the dream," he confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. Monica looked at him, a combination of surprise and confusion playing on her beautiful face. He licked his lips before continuing. "I saw my parents, and I don't think they were ever really in love, but I've seen people in love and it's got to be the most powerful thing in the world. People are willing to do any multitude of things for love. It consumes, it nourishes, it comforts. It causes sublime happiness and dull despair. And yet, despite all of the difficulties that it inflicts upon us, it is still the single strongest emotion we hold within us. It's the one thing that can save us from the hell of true life. It's the fairy tale possibility within our own hearts." Suddenly he stopped and looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly after a moment. "I get a little carried away sometimes."  
Monica swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she'd been listening to him. "Don't apologize. That's... that's it. Perfect. That's what I want. That's why I don't want to marry someone like Peter Becker. I could never find that love with a man like him." Chandler looked back up at her, grateful that she'd been so understanding and surprised that she understood what he meant. After a moment, she rose from the table. "Well, I'd better be getting to bed. I have to attend another one of the Delaneys' parties tomorrow night," she explained with a sigh. He smiled half-heartedly.  
"Well, on behalf of my former employers, I apologize for the boredom that undoubtedly awaits you." She smiled. "Thanks again for fixing me up, Mon." She grinned.  
"Mon?" He blushed.  
"Sorry, Monica."  
"No," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "Mon. I like it." He grinned again. "You're welcome. Goodnight, Chandler."  
"Goodnight... Mon." She smiled and turned away, heading for the stairs. Chandler sighed and leaned his elbows on the table and placed his forehead in his hands. What a pity is was that the love he'd wanted for so long and that he'd always dreamed of was one he managed to find in someone he could never have.  
  
"Monica, there's a slight problem with the plans for tonight," her mother said carefully as they sat at breakfast the next morning.  
"Oh?" Monica asked, raising her eyebrows hopefully.  
"It seems that Peter Becker will be unable to attend, as he's had to go to a conference in Philadelphia."  
"Strange, that doesn't seem to be a problem in my opinion," Monica muttered.  
"Monica, it's not very ladylike to mutter, especially not such sarcastic comments."  
"Sorry," Monica replied, only halfway meaning it.  
"Anyway," her mother continued, "Ross won't be able to bring you home, as he'll be Rachel's escort for the evening."  
"That is a shame," Monica said in false earnest. "Well, perhaps the best thing to do would be for me to stay at home tonight, then." She looked at her mother hopefully.  
"Of course you can't miss the Delaneys' party," Judy said, appalled at the suggestion.  
"Well, then, I can just bring myself home," Monica replied simply.  
"Oh, Monica, you know you can't very well be walking alone after dark."  
"Why? They don't live THAT far away."  
"Dear, what in heaven would people think if we left our daughter to walk home in pitch black like some... unrefined peasant?"  
"Mother, it's almost the 20th century. There's no such thing as peasants anymore," Monica said.  
"Monica, don't speak to your mother in such a tone," Jack interrupted.  
"I'm sorry, Dad," she replied. "I just don't see my lacking an escort to be quite the crisis situation you see." She turned as she heard Chandler clearing his throat from the other end of the kitchen where he had been putting a nail in the wall to hang a painting.  
"I don't mean to be rude," he said, glancing at Monica, "but I couldn't help overhearing your dilemma. If it would be of any help, I would gladly go to the Delaneys' this evening to pick her up if you can find no better solution." Judy offered a tight-lipped smile.  
"Well, thank you Chandler, but I don't think that will be necessary."  
"Oh, Judy, that's a wonderful idea!" Jack countered. "After all, Chandler is familiar with the Delaneys and the way to their house." He turned to face him. "Thank you for the offer, Chandler." Chandler nodded, smiling slightly, and returned to hanging the painting. Monica took a sip of her water to hide the smile that played upon her lips, glad that she wouldn't have to put up with the boring small talk that always took place on the walks home with Peter Becker. Facing the wall, Chandler also grinned, pleased at the opportunity to retrieve Monica from the party and to have the time to talk with her alone without the danger of shirking his responsibilities.  
  
"Who's Mark Twain?" Monica had to fight from rolling her eyes. Sarah Taylor, one of the more intelligent girls at the party, or so Monica had thought, had proven otherwise.  
"Never mind," Monica said dejectedly. She found herself wishing that Chandler were with her so that she would have someone to talk to that would make the party interesting. She stole a glance at the grandfather clock in the hallway. 9:30. Only thirty minutes until he would show up to take her home. Her parents had told him to get her at 10:30, but she'd taken him aside that afternoon and begged him to pick her up half an hour early so that she wouldn't die of boredom. Now, however, it looked as though that danger lurked in the not-so-distant future. She looked around for Rachel, eventually spotting her in the opposite corner of the room talking with Ross and a few others. Monica made her way over to them, hoping, if nothing else, that their familiarity would offer some comfort. "I don't believe it!" she heard Rachel say once she was within earshot. She joined their circle and looked on curiously.  
"Don't believe what?" she asked politely.  
"You remember Anne Franklin?" Monica nodded. "She's... well, she's in a 'delicate condition.'" Monica frowned.  
"I didn't know she was married."  
"She's not," Ross said simply. Monica's eyes widened slightly. She had always gotten on quite well with Anne, considering that she was an upper-class girl. Yet she'd been far less superficial than most, and for that reason Monica had found her far more tolerable.  
"If she's not married, then what of the father?" she asked inquisitively.  
"That's the strangest part. Seems it was some blacksmith or something. Her father was irate, as you can imagine. After all, he was planning on her getting married to someone of a much more respectable status." Rachel shook her head pityingly. Monica rolled her eyes.  
"Well, it's quite bad form to gossip, really," one of the girls said.  
"Perhaps she loved him," Monica argued, ignoring the interruption. Everyone listening looked at her, surprised.   
"Why would someone like Anne love someone like that?"  
"Why not?" Monica challenged.  
"Oh, Monica, honestly, could you ever see yourSELF with someone of a lower class than your own?" Rachel asked. Monica froze and blushed as the image of Chandler swept through her mind. "There you are." She opened her mouth to argue, but could find nothing of value to say. As she heard the Delaneys' doorbell chime, she glanced at the clock. 9:50. She silently prayed that it was Chandler who had finally arrived to rescue her from the dreary world of condescension.   
"Miss Geller."   
"Thank you, Arthur," she said to the Delaneys' butler as she walked into the entrance hall. She smiled when she saw Chandler shifting nervously in the doorway. He grinned back.  
"I'll get your coat," he offered as he walked toward the hall closet.  
"Thank you," she said after he'd found it and helped her on with it.   
"My pleasure. Shall we?" He said, offering his arm. She smiled again, taking his arm and allowing him to escort her out of the house.   
"Oh, thank you for rescuing me!" She said, exhaling heavily once they had reached the end of the Delaney walkway. He laughed.  
"That much fun, huh?" She groaned. "I always wondered what the appeal of those parties was. I mean, I saw enough of them when I worked there. Heaven knows those people throw at least once every two weeks."  
"Don't remind me," Monica said, and he laughed again. After a moment of silence, Chandler spoke nervously.  
"So, uh, I don't know what you want to do about this, but your parents aren't expecting you home until about a quarter of eleven, so did you just want to tell them you left early? They didn't see me leave," he explained. "I didn't know if you'd want to tell them that you snuck out early." Monica looked at him carefully.  
"Would you mind if we stalled a bit? I'd much rather not go home until I absolutely must." Chandler smiled slightly, fighting back the much larger grin that lingered behind the slight smile.  
"Sounds fine to me," he said quietly. She smiled appreciatively and sighed.  
"What a beautiful night," she said after a moment. Chandler nodded in agreement.  
"Lots of stars," he said. She looked up and sighed again. "That's one of the reasons I love walking at night." She turned to face him.  
"You go out walking at night often?" He shrugged.  
"Sometimes. Mainly on nights like this. Clear, breezy, lots of stars... it's just so peaceful. A good time to gather thoughts."  
"I wish I could walk alone at night," Monica said wistfully. "But, as was made quite clear by this morning's conversation, that's apparently out of the question." She was silent for a moment before speaking again. "What kind of things do you think about?" He turned to face her for a moment, and she looked at the ground quickly. "I'm sorry, that's personal, I understand." Chandler grinned as he once again recognized the tension between her unbridled curiosity and her refined upbringing.  
"No, it's fine. I think about everything. Although, come to think of it, I haven't gone for a night walk since I moved to your place."  
"Why not?" He shrugged.  
"I don't know. Although some nights I've been busy with the book trade." Monica reddened and he laughed. "I just haven't yet, I suppose. Although I will pick up with it soon enough, I'm sure. There's just something about being out alone at night. It feels almost... magical." She smiled, nodding her agreement. He suddenly stopped and scratched his head.  
"What?" Monica asked.  
"Would you like to see something?"  
"Of course," she replied, following him as he turned off the road and walked through a small wood. Suddenly they were at a clear patch that dropped off into a small brook no more than ten feet below. The water babbled soothingly below while the clear moon sent a soft glow over the area and made the surface of the black water shine.  
"This is where I'd come a lot when I used to walk," he explained.  
"I can understand why," she said after a moment. "It's beautiful." He nodded.  
"A good place for reading during the day. Almost as good as your beloved tree," he added after a moment. She felt the blush once again creeping toward her face and he laughed warmly. "I'd invite you to sit, but I'm afraid I don't have anything for you to sit on." Without a second thought, Monica promptly sat down on the cool grass and looked back up at him boldly. He grinned and joined her. "Well, I definitely should have seen that one coming." She turned to face him curiously.  
"Meaning?"  
"Well, just meaning that you're not one for the frills and everything. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of us."  
"One of us?" Monica repeated.  
"You know. As opposed to what you are."  
"Oh, of course. And what exactly am I?" Monica asked, her annoyance mounting.  
"You know what you are," he said carefully, aware of the fact that he'd probably offended her.  
"Yes, I do, actually. I know who I am far better than you do, thank you." She made a move to stand up, but stopped when she felt his hand grasp her arm.  
"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I didn't mean anything by that. I just... I guess... I've just never known anyone like you." Monica softened, knowing that he'd meant no offense.  
"I know... I'm sorry, as well. I tend to be quick-tempered sometimes and... well, I apologize for flying off the handle."  
"No apology necessary, Mon," he replied. Monica grinned when she heard him use his nickname for her.  
"It really is beautiful here," she said after a moment.  
"Yeah, it is," he answered. "I guess that must be why you fit in so well here." She turned to face him, surprised. He blushed and continued to stare out at the water, not having the courage to meet her eye. He hadn't meant to say it, but when the thought had entered his mind it was as if he lost all control over his mouth, and the words had escaped.  
"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked after a moment. He cast a sideways glance at her before answering.  
"You're far more than beautiful, Monica. Many girls can be beautiful. You're... fire."  
"Fire," she repeated carefully. He looked at her nervously for a moment, silently arguing with himself over whether or not he should explain and eventually realizing that he couldn't very well shut his mouth now.   
"You... you remind me of this character I made up," he began. "You see, I was writing this story. Well, trying to write this story. I never really got around to finishing it... well anyway, it was a love story. Kind of. The love story was at the heart of it, anyway. The woman was... well, when I created her, I guess I was subconsciously writing about the type of woman that I've always seen as perfect. Anyway, she reminds me of you... and the word that I always kept in mind when I wrote about her was 'fire.' Everything she did, she did fervently. She was passionate about everything: her thoughts, her emotions, her beliefs, her lover... everything in her was like another spark that ignited a new flame." He quieted for a moment. "Well, that's... that's just kind of the way I see you, I guess."  
"Funny," she said after a thoughtful moment. "That's how I feel. Like fire. Except sometimes... I feel like it's either going to consume me or be put out. I mean, it's almost like I have to choose: a raging blaze or ashes. If I live life my way and turn away from my family, that fire will be all I have. If I don't... well, if I don't, the blankets of my parents and Peter Becker will eventually extinguish the flames, and then what will there be?" She was suddenly aware of the tears in her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. Chandler immediately moved closer to her without really realizing it, and he placed his finger under her chin.   
"I find it hard to believe that anyone, even a Peter Becker, could extinguish that flame of yours," he murmured. Monica smiled and took a deep breath, suddenly realizing how close they were. Chandler moved away slightly and looked back out over the water. As she gazed at him, she realized suddenly that she had found the type of love that she had always wanted. Since the day he'd moved in, she had become consumed with watching him and wanting to be around him. From their shared interest in literary works to the magnetic power of his sky blue eyes, she felt comforted, empowered, and invigorated by him in a way that she'd feared would never exist. The realization came as a shock to her, for although she'd known she liked him, she had no idea how deep it ran. With the sudden insight, however, she felt a combined sensation of fear, joy, and love take over her and as she gazed at his profile she knew she had to know if he felt the same for her -- if the love he had so passionately spoken of was a love that he could ever find in her. Before she was even aware of it herself, she had placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers and was gazing intently into his eyes, almost as if she could read the answer in them like she read his books. He stared silently back at her, wishing with all his heart that he had the courage to lean in and kiss her. They continued to gaze into each other's eyes wordlessly, each dying to know what the other was thinking, but neither willing to break the mysteriously charged silence between them.   
A million thoughts were rushing through Chandler's mind, from how much trouble he would get into if he was seen in such a situation with Monica Geller to how he simply didn't care, as long as he got to kiss her.   
Monica felt a shiver run down her back as he slowly reached up and ran his fingers gently over her cheek. "This is going to be a problem," he murmured, looking adoringly into her eyes. She shrugged slightly.  
"What fire isn't?" He half-smiled and leaned in for the tender kiss he had awaited for so long.  
  
OKAY... THINGS GET COMPLICATED IN PART THREE, COMING SOON!!! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, AND THANKS FOR READING! :-) 


	3. Chapter Three: Going Against the Grain

PART THREE IS HERE... THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK, REVIEWER-PEOPLE! C'MON EVERYONE... JOIN THE RANKS... REVIEWING IS FUN! ANYWAY... MOVING RIGHT ALONG... HERE'S THE NEXT PART OF "A LOVE AGAINST ALL ODDS." BY THE WAY, I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED THE WEDDING!! (AND I'LL TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO SAY, A LA JANICE, "OH... MY... GAWD.")   
  
"So, both of you, how was the Delaneys' party?" Jack asked the next morning as the Gellers sat down to breakfast.  
"Oh, wonderful," Monica said dryly as she buttered a piece of toast.  
"It was quite good, actually," Ross answered. "Almost everyone was there."  
"Yes, well, I wouldn't expect less of a party thrown by Charlotte Delaney," Judy commented. As Nora served scrambled eggs onto everyone's plate, Jack turned to Chandler, who was getting a glass of water from the sink.  
"Thank you again for collecting Monica last night, Chandler."  
"Oh, it's no problem, sir. None at all." As Jack returned to his breakfast, Chandler stole a glance at Monica, who was in turn looking shyly at him, a small smile playing on her lips. He grinned in return, gazing at her for a moment before reluctantly tearing his eyes away from her beautiful face. As he emptied his glass and rinsed it in the sink, he heard Jack speak up once again.  
"So, Chandler." He turned, drying his hands on a dishtowel.  
"Yes, sir?"  
"I've been having some problems with the drainage on the land, and John told me that you managed to dig a trench that helped his irrigation tremendously. Do you think you could find a way to do the same here?" After a thoughtful moment, Chandler nodded slowly.  
"Yes, sir, I think I could do that. Your property is quite a bit like Mr. Delaney's, in fact, so I think that the same type of idea would probably work quite well."  
"Ah. Thank you, that would be great." Chandler nodded again and returned the dishtowel to the kitchen counter as he quickly kissed his mother on the cheek. He stole one more furtive glance at Monica before he exited and, when he noted that no one else was paying attention, he winked at her quickly and grinned. She smiled back as he left, quickly sobering as she noticed her father looking at her and she suddenly became very interested in her breakfast plate.  
  
As he dug methodically, Chandler allowed his mind to return to the events of the night before. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and his heart was one of emotions. While there was absolutely no doubt that he was glad about what happened, he couldn't help the feelings of apprehension and the notion that, sooner or later, it would all blow up. Monica was a Geller, and he most certainly was not of such status. Girls like her married men like Peter Becker ... not once had he heard of a situation like theirs ending happily. He remembered how ardently she had declared that she wouldn't ever marry Peter Becker, but, sadly, Chandler knew that she had little if any say in such a matter. Monica would marry more or less who her parents told her to marry, and her wishes would be ignored. He sighed, frustrated, and wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned against his shovel for a momentary breather. Regardless of the fact that he knew that he had no real chance with Monica, he couldn't help the hope that lingered from the kiss they had shared. Kissing her had simply felt right, and it had felt as though all of the passion that he knew was in him had suddenly been freed. He picked up the shovel once more and continued digging, feeling his muscles aching slightly. He wondered if there was any way that the situation could end happily; after all, he was fairly certain that he was falling head over heels in love with Monica Geller and, while he told himself that it was foolish to do so, he couldn't help hoping for the chance to make her happy.  
  
"Hello." Chandler grinned as he saw the increasingly familiar sight of Monica's face on the other side of his door, illuminated by the lantern she held.  
"Need a new book?" he asked as he noticed that she had one tucked under her arm. She nodded and his smile widened as he held the door open for her.  
"Have you read this one before?" she asked as she extended her book toward him.  
"The Iliad," he read. "Actually, no." She smiled. "Thank you." She nodded and he indicated toward his bookshelf. After she had found one that she liked, she turned to face him once again, her smile teasing him as the gentle glow of the lantern flame danced across her delicate features. He took a step toward her, almost as though a force had pulled him in closer. She smiled and dropped her gaze as she shyly stared at her hands. He took another step toward her and gently lifted her chin. As clear blue matched clear blue, he broke the silence that occupied the space between them. "Do you even realize what's happened?" She simply looked at him intently, waiting for him to continue. He sighed and paused as he gently caressed her cheek. "I'm in love with you." She smiled, a smile of happiness, relief, and warmth.  
"I'm in love with you, too," she replied in a whisper, and he let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and smiled. "We're in trouble now." He merely nodded and leaned in to kiss her. She almost sighed as their lips met and she felt his strong arms wrap gently around her. It was almost as though her life was stagnant when they were apart, but in the moment their lips touched, the world offered a new and exciting dimension. Nothing had ever felt so right to her as kissing him, and she found that she could quite easily lose herself in those kisses and in the safety and comfort that his arms provided. She reluctantly broke the kiss and gazed up at him. She pecked him once more on the mouth and smiled timidly. "Goodnight, Chandler," she whispered.  
"'Night, Mon," he answered as he watched her leave his room. He sighed and sat down on his bed, his hands on his knees and his head in his hands. "Good God, what have I gotten myself into?"  
  
As she crept through the kitchen on her way toward the stairs, Monica paused momentarily and cast a glance around, feeling as though she were being watched. Seeing no one, she sighed and shivered slightly as she made her way toward the stairs. She'd hardly ever sneaked around, and doing so was starting to make her paranoid.  
  
Chandler looked up, surprised, when he heard a timid knock on his door. He figured it was Monica and wondered what she wanted. He momentarily imagined her spending the night with him, and immediately scolded himself for thinking of her in such a manner. Monica was a lady and, despite the strong feelings that he now knew they had for each other, he wouldn't allow himself to disrespect her in any way. "Mom?" He frowned in surprise and confusion when he saw Nora standing on the other side of his door. "Is everything okay?" He silenced when he noticed her looking at him sternly. "What did I do?" She entered his room and closed the door quietly behind her.  
"What do you think you're doing?" Chandler stared at her, baffled.  
"What?" She sighed and sat on the edge of his bed.  
"Sweetheart, what's going on with you and Miss Geller?" Chandler snorted.  
"Nothing, I barely see the woman except at breakfast and when she sends me to get something from the market. Why?" Nora sighed.  
"No, not MRS. Geller. MISS Geller." Chandler's expression changed as he registered what she meant.  
"Oh, you mean Moni-- MISS Geller. I get it. Uh, what do you mean, 'What's going on?'"   
"I mean why did I just see her leaving your bedroom in the dead of night? Son, tell me that you're not... not with the daughter of the man we WORK for..."  
"Mother." Chandler cut her off and held up his hand. "She was here for a book."  
"A book?"  
"Yes, a book. We trade books."   
"Ah." Nora nodded, but looked at him closely as she remained silent for a moment. "And that's all you're doing with her?" Chandler avoided her gaze as he tried to find a way to avoid telling her the truth without lying to her. He'd never lied to his mother in his life, and he knew that she could read him like a book. "Chandler..." He looked up, recognizing the motherly tone of voice she was using, and the sheepish look on his face more or less gave him away.   
"I love her," he said quietly after a moment. "I'm in love with her." Nora sighed as he sat next to her on his bed.  
"Look, sweetheart, I know she's beautiful, and she's rich, but you know as well as I do--"  
"It's not like that," Chandler interrupted. "I love her, and she loves me back." Before Nora could interrupt, he continued. "And I don't love her because she's beautiful and rich. I mean sure, she is beautiful, and I know it and I love that about her, but she's so much more than that. She's smart, and she's passionate, and she's... well, she's everything. And this isn't just some admiration from afar. She loves me, too." Nora looked at him skeptically.  
"What makes you think that?"  
"Because she told me so," he replied defensively. "I love her and she loves me." Nora sighed again.  
"Chandler, I realize how serious this is to you, apparently, but try and be realistic here. You know as well as I do that there are certain things that just don't happen. People like us don't marry people like them. It just doesn't happen."  
"Just because it doesn't isn't to say that it can't," he retorted. Nora put her hand to her son's cheek and looked at him sadly.  
"Sweetheart, you've got a good heart, and any girl would be lucky to have you. But it's just a fact of life that people don't... inter-marry. I don't want you to think that I'm trying to tell you who to love, but I do want you to remain realistic about your life. I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want there to be trouble."  
"I know Mom. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Everything will be fine."  
"Chandler, listen to me. I don't know how long this has been going on, or even exactly WHAT is going on, but please... just stop whatever it is. Nothing good can come of it."  
"Something good already has," he replied, gazing at his bedside lantern. "I'm in love." Nora stared at her son's profile as she felt the helplessness of a mother whose son has found the ability and the determination to lead his own life and to think for himself. She sighed as she rose, knowing all too well that her son's newfound "love" would undoubtedly lead to nothing less than disaster.  
  
"Chandler?" Monica opened the door slightly to let him in her room so that her parents wouldn't hear them whispering in the hallway.  
"Hi," he said softly.  
"Everything okay?"  
"Oh, yeah, everything's fine. I just... well, I didn't think you would have fallen asleep quite yet, so I thought I'd ask... I'm going to go for one of my nighttime walks, and I just wanted to ask if you'd care to join me." She was silent for a moment before a smile broke out across her face.  
"Really?" He grinned.  
"Really."  
"Yes, of course, I'd love to. Let me just change and I'll meet you outside, all right?" Chandler nodded and quickly and quietly left her room, tiptoeing down the stairs and silently stepping outside the front door. After a few minutes, he heard a rustling noise from above him and he squinted into the darkness, not quite believing what he saw. There, making her way down a rather large tree, was Monica Geller. Proper, refined, classy Monica Geller was shimmying her way down an oak tree with the skill of a chimpanzee. She effortlessly dropped to the ground a few feet away from him and absentmindedly smoothed the front of her frock. When she noticed him staring at her, the surprised expression on his face, she grinned mischievously at him and nodded toward the gate at the edge of their property. He wordlessly followed her until they were off her father's land.  
"I can't believe I just saw that."  
"What?" she asked innocently, her blue eyes shining in the moonlight.  
"You just... you actually climbed down a tree. In the dead of night."  
"Yes, well, I couldn't very well just walk out the front door and expect to be able to walk right back in, could I? This way I don't have to worry about someone being up when we get back. I can simply climb back in my window and no one will ever have to know I was gone." Chandler simply shook his head, knowing that anything he said would be dismissed.   
"Anywhere in particular that you want to go?" he asked, facing forward. After a momentary pause, Monica looked at him shyly.  
"Take me back to the place we went last time?" He looked at her for a moment, almost as though he were determining whether or not she deserved to have her request fulfilled. He then sighed and shrugged nonchalantly.   
"I suppose I could do that," he said, forcing himself not to smile. "I mean, it gets kind of boring after awhile... all the girls I take there every week..." He trailed off as she spun to face him, and his solemn expression was becoming harder and harder to maintain.  
"Chandler Bing--" she began, trying to harness her jealousy but failing miserably.  
"I'm only teasing, Mon," he said gently. He watched in amusement as her enraged expression gave way to a meek one. She turned haughtily and took a few steps away from him before she felt his hand take hold of hers as he fell in step beside her.   
They walked in silence to the spot he'd shown her last time and as the warm June breeze washed over them, Monica sighed. She gazed out over the dark water, loving the freedom she felt at being out after dark with Chandler. She suddenly turned to face him, her expression a mix of curiosity, jealousy, and timidity.   
"Chandler?"  
"Yes?" She was thoughtfully silent for a moment before she continued.  
"HAVE you ever brought other girls here?" He forced himself to suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned to face her. He remained silent, knowing that it was torturing her. He found that he almost liked the fact that she was jealous.  
"Envious?"  
"No," she retorted hotly. "Curious."  
"Monica--"  
"All right, I'm jealous. Okay? I just want to know what I'm up against, is that really such an unreasonable demand?"  
"No."  
"Thank you."  
"No, I mean no."  
"No?"  
"No. I've never brought other girls here. I've never brought anyone here. Except you." Monica couldn't help the smile that spread as a surge of satisfaction and relief took over her.  
"Really?" He grinned back, loving the way she was making him feel -- wanted.  
"Really." She sighed, contented, and she looked down at her fingers that were laced together with his. After a thoughtful silence, he spoke again. "Monica?"  
"Hm?"  
"I uh..." He stammered as he tried to articulate the thoughts that occupied his mind and paused, taking a deep breath. "Look, there's something that I want to say to you, and I'm going to mess it up, but just let me get it all out, okay?" She looked into his eyes, a nervous feeling taking over her. She simply nodded, waiting for him to continue. "Okay, um... look, I know that we're in some trouble here. I know that what we're doing is wrong, and I know that you know it as well, and yet I can't help myself. When I'm around you, it's like I lose touch with reality because you transport me to this... other place where all I can think about is you. And I don't want you to think..." He paused and sighed, raking his hand through his hair. Monica smiled absently as she noticed his endearing habit, but sobered when he spoke once again. "Basically, what I'm saying is... we come from two different worlds. You're used to people like Peter Becker treating you like... well, treating you how you deserve to be treated. I just want you to know that... I realize that I don't treat you like those types of men treat you, but I want you to know that it doesn't mean that I don't respect you. I do, I respect you, and I want to treat you like a lady, the way you deserve to be treated. I just... I don't exactly know how to treat you like that because I can't exactly show up at one of your parties and discuss Dickens and Thoreau and expect people to be okay with it--" He was cut off by a deep kiss, a kiss that pleasantly surprised him. She pulled away quickly and looked into his eyes firmly.  
"If I liked the way they treated me, I'd be with one of them. But I'm not. I'm with you. I love the way you treat me, and I love the way you make me feel. They don't make me feel like a lady, they make me feel like an ornament... something that exists only to stand in the background and make them look that little bit better. I don't want that. I want you." Surprised at her outburst, Chandler stroked her cheek softly, as if touching her would convince him further. She looked into his eyes, concerned. "Okay?" He nodded slowly and kissed her gently.  
"I just... I was just worried that you'd think I was treating you... improperly. I mean, it's just not really right... my stealing you away from your room in the dead of night, kissing you by a river... it sounds like something out of a book, not real life." She placed her hands on his cheeks reassuringly.  
"All my life I've wanted to be a character in a book." She smiled and he grinned, his worries fading slightly as he kissed her again. She pulled away suddenly and looked at him, an impish grin on her face. "How warm do you think it is?" Chandler frowned slightly, wondering where her question was leading.  
"I don't know," he said, looking at the sky. "About seventy-five?" She smiled again.  
"What about the water?" His eyes narrowed as he registered what she was implying.  
"Probably about sixty-five by now, why?" She grinned.  
"I haven't swam in a river since I was five."  
"Okay," he said uneasily. "Let's leave it that way." Taking her for a walk at night was one thing... allowing her to swim in a river was quite another, and even he wasn't naive enough to think it was acceptable.  
"Come on, Chandler, don't you think it would be fun?" He stared at her curiously. Her concerns regarding her proper upbringing seemed to have flown out the window, and while he loved her wild spirit, he couldn't help the apprehension that lurked in the back of his mind.  
"Fun, yes. Smart, no."  
"Since when do we do the smart thing?" she asked quietly. She looked at him carefully, suddenly nervous. Recognizing her apprehension, he smiled.  
"Good point. There, uh... is a problem, though." She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "We're somewhat lacking in the swimwear department. Neither of us have suits."  
"We can improvise," she said with a smile. "Turn your back for a moment." He did as he was told, his mind racing, his heart pounding. After a few moments, she told him to turn and as he did so his eyes widened. He thought he'd been surprised when she clambered down a tree, but seeing her swimming in a river in nothing more than her white cotton underdress almost threw him into shock.   
As she treaded water, Monica felt her whole body shaking, more with nerves than cold. The water was actually quite warm, and she knew that the risks she was taking were what caused her to tremble. Two short months ago she would have been horrified at the thought of swimming in a river, let alone swimming in a river half-clothed at night with a man. Still, despite the fears and the nagging doubts that gnawed at her consciousness, her heart had taken control and her brain was in the backseat for once. She watched nervously as Chandler stared at her and then slowly removed his pants and shirt, leaving him in only his shorts. Her mind momentarily flickered to the night she'd helped him clean the scratch on his back and she'd seen him without his shirt. He stared at her uncertainly as he stood on the bank, not wanting to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. She waved him in, and he waded in slowly, getting closer to her with each step. After a few more paces he was up to his chest in the water and was a short five feet away from her. She smiled at him, and he recognized it as the smile he'd come to know even better in the past hour -- it was the smile, he realized, that she wore when she was truly happy. The smile that took over when she threw aside the restraints that had confined her since she was old enough to understand what was "proper." He grinned back, suddenly forgetting the anxiety that had clouded his mind since she'd suggested the swim. He took two more steps so that they were close enough to be touching, yet they remained apart. He looked into her eyes and found himself falling even more in love with her when he saw the new and uncontrolled blaze within them. He reached up and gently tucked behind her ear a damp strand of hair that had fallen from her bun. At his touch she shivered slightly. The thrill of being so close to him and in such a precarious and new situation took over her and she was suddenly struck shy. He smiled as he recognized the timidity return, if only slightly, and he leaned in to kiss her. The increasingly familiar feel of his lips against hers both comforted her and further thrilled her, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. As they remained in the tight embrace, the kiss deepened and Monica felt a new sensation taking over her. While they had kissed a number of times, it was suddenly more passionate and more intense. She felt his tongue gently tracing her lips, and yet another rush washed over her as she parted her lips and welcomed the new sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth. Never in her life had she experienced something so powerful and as she kissed him back she knew that her love for him would either save her or kill her.  
  
"Where have you been?" Monica jumped as the lights suddenly brightened her room. She stared at the figure by the light switch as she guiltily lowered herself from her windowsill. Her mother's irate voice had sent a chill down her spine and she stood by the window silently, wondering what on earth she could come up with to hide the truth. "I said WHERE have you BEEN?"  
"I went for a walk," she said meekly.  
"A WALK?" her mother repeated, incredulously. "It's two o'clock in the morning!" Monica remained silent, knowing that nothing she could say would possibly help the situation. "And I suppose the fact that Chandler just walked in the front door is merely a coincidence?" Monica's head snapped up and Judy's mouth returned to the straight line it had been when she'd first demanded an explanation. "What do you think you are DOING? What will people SAY? He's the hired HELP, for God's sake!"  
"I don't care what people say!" Monica cried, suddenly infuriated. "And he's not just 'the hired help!'"  
"It's a good thing you'll be married off by the end of the year," Judy said coldly. "I can't deal with this for much longer. I will NOT have you disrespecting me like this."  
"I will NOT marry Peter Becker," Monica said icily. Judy snorted.  
"Oh, Monica, when will you realize that this is for your own good?"  
"Marrying someone I don't love can NEVER be for my own good," she said.   
"Love isn't an option," Judy said coldly.  
"Oh, yes it is," she said angrily, suddenly not caring how angry her mother got. "I found it, and there's no way I'm letting it go. I refuse to be in a cold and loveless marriage like yours. You can't take away what I've found." Judy's face hardened and she glared at her daughter.  
"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we? You think you love this poor boy? I forbid you to see him, and as far as I'm concerned, he's fired. You had better learn to deal with disappointment because there's no way he'll be hired in this town or in any other nearby once they hear what a rogue he is. We were going to let you wait to be married until the end of the year, but as far as I'm concerned, Peter Becker can take you whenever he wants you. And he wants you now." With that, she stormed out. As soon as she had shut the door, Monica collapsed onto her bed, sobbing and feeling her former happiness turning rapidly into a sharp and desperate feeling of helplessness and heartache. She knew that her mother meant what she said about marrying her to Peter Becker soon, and she also knew that what her mother wanted, her mother got.   
  
THE COMPLICATIONS CONTINUE IN PART FOUR, COMING SOON! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! UPDATES TO MY OTHER FICS ARE ALSO IN THE WORKS! THANKS FOR READING... AND PLEASE JUST LEAVE A FEW LITTLE WORDS IN THE BOX BELOW. :-) THANKS!!!  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four: Fired

HI AGAIN! :-) HERE IS PART FOUR OF "A LOVE AGAINST ALL ODDS." THANK YOU TO THE PEOPLE WHO GAVE ME FEEDBACK, BOTH ON THE PREVIOUS PARTS OF THIS FIC AS WELL AS FOR THE OTHER FICS THAT I'VE POSTED -- IT IS GREATLY APPRECIATED! OKAY, WELL, COMPLICATIONS MOUNT... ENJOY! OH, AND I TRIED TO SPACE IT OUT MORE... WHETHER OR NOT IT WORKS DEPENDS ENTIRELY UPON MY COMPUTER'S MOOD, LOL. ANYWAY, ENJOY! (AND, AS ALWAYS, PLEASE REVIEW!)  
  
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Chandler stood nervously in the doorway of Jack Geller's office, wringing his hat in his hands.  
  
"Yes I did, son. Come in, have a seat." Chandler obediently entered the dim room and closed the door behind him, at his boss's request. He sat in front of Mr. Geller's desk, feeling very out-of-place in the elegantly furnished office. He was immediately unnerved at being summoned into the office, and he wondered for a fleeting moment what it was about. Jack cleared his throat and removed his glasses. "Look, you're a smart kid and I'm just going to cut to the chase here, okay?" Chandler nodded. "My wife has requested that I... terminate your employment." Chandler frowned, confused.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"It seems that she... suspects that there is something going on between you and my daughter." He quieted and watched Chandler blankly. Taken aback by the accusation, Chandler stared back at him, entirely speechless. He wondered how much they knew and how much Monica had told them, if anything. Jack Geller's even gaze intimidated him slightly. He'd always liked the man, especially a lot more than he liked Mrs. Geller, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Geller wouldn't be exactly thrilled about his only daughter taking up with someone of hired help status. When he realized that he wouldn't be getting a response without prompting one, Jack spoke again. "Perhaps you can shed some light on the subject. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my daughter?" After one more silent and thoughtful moment, Chandler realized he couldn't lie to the man and he cleared his throat nervously.  
  
"I, uh--" He swallowed. "I'm in love with her, sir." Expecting an irate outburst, he was both surprised and relieved when Jack simply sighed and leaned back in his chair.  
  
"Is that so?" Chandler momentarily wondered if the tone of amusement was as real as the somewhat amused expression on the man's face, but he dismissed both and nodded solemnly, concentrating intently on what his boss was going to say.  
  
"Well, son, I'm sorry to say that despite such feelings, I'm going to have to let you go at my wife's insistence. The reason I called you in here to talk is a simple one. It concerns your mother."  
  
"My mother?" Chandler repeated. Jack nodded.  
  
"You see, while my wife is adamant that you are dismissed, she has made no such demand of your mother; therefore, your mother's situation depends on what you want and what she wants. I can, of course, let both of you go, and we can make up a reason if you don't wish to concern your mother with the truth. Or, another option, I can keep your mother working here and attempt to find you a job, although I must forewarn you that it is unlikely that one will be found anywhere nearby." He rose from his seat and walked around to the front of his desk, leaning against it and folding his hands in front of him. "Basically, I've noted your protectiveness regarding your mother, and I wanted to put the possibilities into perspective. She seems to be quite happy here and Judy is happy with her, so I wanted to let you know that she has options." Chandler nodded, acknowledging his duty to make a decision. After a thoughtful silence, he spoke quietly.  
  
"She'll stay," he said in a low voice. "I'll leave." Jack nodded, momentarily sorry that the boy was going to have to leave. He was a good worker, and Jack had grown quite fond of him. Chandler sighed and rose from the chair, putting his hat back on his head and extending his hand toward his boss. "Thank you for the options, sir." Jack nodded and shook his hand.   
  
"You can stay on until the end of the week," he said. "By then I will probably have some word of work elsewhere for you, if you'd like me to inquire." Chandler nodded.  
  
"If you wouldn't mind." Jack nodded again. "Thank you." He quietly exited Jack's office and closed the door behind him, leaning against it and sighing as he closed his eyes. He wondered how on earth they'd found out about him and Monica, and all he could come up with was that something had happened after they'd returned from their walk the night before. It would explain why he hadn't even seen her around that morning. He sighed again as he straightened, wondering how on earth he was going to handle saying goodbye to the woman he loved.  
  
  
  
"There you are." Monica tensed as Chandler squatted next to her under her tree.  
  
"Hello," she replied shortly.  
  
"Hello?" Chandler frowned. "Monica, why have you been avoiding me?" His eyes were demanding but his tone was gentle, and Monica found herself with mixed feelings. She was angry, but not with him. She was angry with her parents for making him leave and she was angry with herself for... she didn't even know what. Lack of courage, perhaps. The first and only man she'd ever loved was being sent away in less than a week, and all she'd done to protest was to throw a childish tantrum all alone in her bedroom.  
  
"Avoiding you?" she repeated carefully. He sighed as he realized what she was doing. She was distancing herself from him. He was leaving in three short days and she would be left alone, lost in her world of parties, courtships, and money. Ironically, it seemed to both of them that despite the grim situation, it was almost as if he were getting the better end of the deal.  
  
"Monica--"  
  
"Sh." She cut him off as she looked past him and saw her mother's stony expression through the kitchen window. "We'll talk tonight. Not now." A look into her cool blue eyes told him that no argument could be won, and so he simply nodded resignedly and rose, looking at her intently for a minute before turning and heading back toward the house. She sighed as she watched him go, wishing with all her heart that her life was different. As he disappeared from view, she turned her face toward the setting sun and closed her eyes, soaking up the last rays of the day as she fought the frustrated tears that pricked at the back of her eyes. She opened them and gazed out over the horizon, feeling the exasperating combination of anger, desperation, and sadness churning within her. She was furious with her parents for firing Chandler. She was furious with herself for being so spineless. She was furious with Chandler for leaving her, despite the fact that she knew he didn't have a choice. The idea of losing him forever made her desperate, and it was worsened by the knowledge that within a few short months of his departure, she would be married off to a man she didn't love and never could. She ran her hand absently through the grass, wondering where she would find the strength to say goodbye to him in a matter of days, and at the same time knowing that doing so would break her heart. The inkling of a hope was pushed away as she silently reminded herself that allowing optimism would only worsen the pain.  
  
  
  
"Monica." She forced a smile as she stood outside his bedroom door. She suddenly noticed the fact that she loved the way he said her name. It was as though her name fit in his mouth and when he said it she liked the way it sounded. She blinked and pushed the thoughts away as she looked nervously into his cool blue eyes.  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
"Of course." He stepped back and held the door open for her, inviting her in.  
  
"Chandler, I'm so sorry," she began once she'd entered the room and he'd closed the door.  
  
"Sorry?" he repeated, confused. She nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry I got you fired, I'm sorry that it's because of me that you're going to have to leave your mother, I'm sorry that because of me you have to leave town..." She was silenced by Chandler's hand on her mouth. He was silent for a moment before speaking.  
  
"Are you also sorry for falling in love with me?" Surprised, she was silent for a moment before shaking her head. "Good," he replied. "Because I'm not sorry for anything that's happened. I'm not sorry that you filled me with the most amazing feeling in the world. I'm not sorry that I finally know what it feels like to be in love. I'm not sorry about anything that's happened, except that I've made things hard for you."  
  
"For me?" He nodded.  
  
"With your parents, I'm guessing. I mean, I don't know about your father, he didn't seem so upset, but I'm guessing your mother is pretty steamed, right?" Monica shrugged.  
  
"My mother was never satisfied with me," she replied simply. Chandler gently stroked her cheek.  
  
"How can anyone be less than amazed by you, let alone satisfied?" he wondered aloud. Monica blushed and smiled, and regardless of the troubles it had caused them, Chandler couldn't help kissing her. He felt her kiss back and he sighed into her mouth as their mouths opened and he explored hers with his tongue. Suddenly he pulled away harshly and ran the back of his hand across his mouth, looking guilty and ashamed.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"This. I shouldn't be doing this."  
  
"Well, it's a bit late now, is it not?" Monica asked skeptically.  
  
"No, I mean... well, I'm leaving in three days. It's not fair of me to... you know... keep this going like nothing's changed. It's just going to make it harder." He glared at the wall as they stood silently, the lanterns sending shadows dancing about the room and illuminating their faces with a soft glow. As she moved to stand in front of him, he looked at her and was struck by how soft her skin looked in the dim light, and he inadvertently reached up and stroked her cheek.  
  
"It can't get much harder," she said softly as her eyes filled with tears. The statement struck her suddenly as she realized just how true it was. She couldn't imagine having to let him go, and the knowledge that she would soon have to do so was tearing her apart. Her attempts to keep him at a distance until his departure had been futile, as she became determined to soak up every last second she had with him before he left town and her life. She stood on her toes and gently kissed him again, pulling away to look into his eyes. God, she knew she was going to miss those eyes when they were gone. His eyes, his laugh, the way he ran his hand through his hair, the way he held her tightly in his arms and made her feel so safe... everything. After a moment of silence he leaned in and kissed her again, all notions of "not making things harder" flying out the window. She reacted to his kiss eagerly and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. They kissed for what had to have been at least ten minutes, and as he pulled away and stared at her face, she felt her heart lurch at the tender expression that gave away his true emotions. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers as he laced the fingers of his left hand with those of her right.   
  
"I love you so much," he whispered. She sighed, struggling against the threatening tears.  
  
"Me too," she whispered back, unable to keep from kissing him again. As their tongues met, she pressed herself against him, needing to feel as close to him as possible. Driven by desire, desperation, and denial, she kissed him with an almost urgent neediness. He stopped kissing her to catch his breath and he looked at her solemnly, feeling his heart aching as he imagined leaving. After a momentary silence, she kissed him lightly on the lips and stared at him solemnly. Her expression turned to one of shyness as she timidly ran her hands up underneath his white t-shirt, feeling the goose bumps rise on his skin as he gently stroked her shoulders through the fabric of her dressing gown. He watched her intently as she removed her hands from under his shirt and slowly untied the sash that held her robe closed.  
  
"Monica?" he inquired curiously. She didn't respond, instead simply allowing the dressing gown to fall to the floor, leaving her in a simple white cotton underdress like the one she'd been swimming in a few nights ago. "What, uh... what's going on?" She once more placed her hands on his torso, this time gently lifting the hem of his shirt and looking at him calmly.  
  
"I'm taking your shirt off," she said quietly as she raised the shirt up and over his head, running her hands over his now bare chest as the shirt joined her robe on the floor. She softly kissed his neck, and he closed his eyes as her soft lips brushed over his skin. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to keep his composure, not wanting to get lost in the exhilarating feeling of being with her to the point where he would do something imprudent.  
  
"Monica," he said again, his voice catching slightly in his throat.  
  
"Hm?" she continued to kiss his soft skin for a moment before pulling away and looking at him intently. He was silent as he stared into her clear blue eyes, trying to articulate what he knew he should be saying. She gently reached out and took his hand, guiding it to the tie at the front of her dress. She helped him untie it, never averting her gaze from his eyes, and felt her heartbeat accelerate as the tie loosened and the soft skin just above her breasts was revealed. He stared at her, the fear in his eyes mirroring the anxiety in her heart. They both knew how dangerous and how wrong it was for them to be together in such a way, but conformity never seemed to be much of an issue when they were together. She ran her hands over his torso once more and then gently undid the button on his pants, allowing them to fall to the floor, leaving him in just his shorts. As her eyes met his once again, he felt his anxiety mounting as her hands continued to roam over his chest. He licked his lips uneasily.  
  
"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispered hoarsely, savoring the sensation of her hands running over his bare skin.  
  
"Probably not," she whispered back, gazing into his eyes. "But there are a lot of things we shouldn't have done that we did. Why stop now?" He stared at her, trying to think of an argument. Despite the fact that he wanted her more than anything, he didn't want to do something that one or both of them would later regret, and he knew that in doing something like making love to her, it would only complicate the situation, especially when it came time for his departure. Added to which, doing something of such a nature with someone like Monica Geller couldn't amount to anything good with the exception of the happiness it would provide them. Recognizing his apprehension, she kissed him again, and while he knew he should stop it, he couldn't help himself and he found himself lifting her dress over her head and kissing her hungrily. The overwhelming feelings of love for her took over as he lowered her onto his bed, temporarily erasing everything else, and he both wanted and needed her. He gently ran his hands over her naked form, putting into actions what he felt in his heart, and as he made love to her he realized that no matter where he went, to the next town or to the opposite side of the world, his heart would be forever filled with Monica Geller.  
  
  
  
"I'm going with you," she said softly as they laid in his bed together. He raised his head to look at her and she couldn't help smiling at his rumpled look. His hair was ruffled and he looked like he'd been half asleep, but there was a shine in his eyes. He stared at her for a moment before speaking, and she smiled at his soft and loving voice that both soothed and exhilarated her.  
  
"What do you mean, you're going with me?"  
  
"I'm going with you," she repeated simply.  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning when you leave, wherever you go, I'm going with you." Chandler rolled onto his back and sat up against his headboard, hugging Monica to him and sighing as she rested her head on his chest.  
  
"Monica, you can't go with me," he said sadly.  
  
"Why not?" she challenged as he stroked her bare arm.  
  
"It just won't work." She sat up, a defiant look on her face that he knew signaled the ignition of her temper.  
  
"Why not?" she asked again. He sighed. "What, don't you love me or something?" He looked at her sternly.  
  
"Monica, you know I love you." He said it so quickly and forcefully that Monica had to fight the smile that threatened to creep across her face.  
  
"I know," she said. "So what is it then?"  
  
"Well, firstly, your parents would come to find you and drag you back." She seemed to consider the thought for a moment before speaking.  
  
"Not if they don't know where we are."  
  
"But they will. Your father's finding me a job."  
  
"Well, just don't take whatever job he finds you. Find one yourself." Chandler sighed.  
  
"Okay, let's suspend reality for a moment and say that I could find a job somewhere they wouldn't find us. I can't do that to you."  
  
"Do it to me?" she repeated.  
  
"Yes. I can't take you away from this. From money, from comfortable living, from high-class parties and the lifestyle you're used to. I can't whisk you away from all that and into a life of hardship. I couldn't live with myself if I did that to you. You deserve so much more than that, Monica, and I just can't provide you with it."  
  
"So you couldn't take me away with you, but you could leave me behind to be married to some arrogant, lifeless man like Peter Becker?" Chandler sighed as he felt the pang that always accompanied the image of Monica with another man.   
  
"No," he whispered. "I don't want that. But at least then I know you'll have the life you deserve."  
  
"The life I deserve," Monica repeated dryly. "A loveless life?" He was silent. "Chandler, we went through this before. If that were the kind of life I wanted, I would have it. I'd be with someone like Peter Becker already, but I'm not. I'm with you. I WANT to be with you, not with anyone else. I don't care about money, I don't care about status... I just want to be with you." Chandler sighed and shook his head pityingly.  
  
"Monica, it's fine for you to say you don't care about those things, but you don't know what it's like not to have them."  
  
"So I'll find out." As he gazed into her eyes, he wanted more than anything to believe that it could happen -- that he could whisk her away and they could be together -- but at the same time he knew that she wasn't being realistic.  
  
"Monica," he said again, but he was interrupted by her hand on his mouth.  
  
"Do you love me?" she asked seriously, looking adoringly into his eyes.  
  
"You know I do."  
  
"Then that's all that matters. I love you and you love me. I know it's not going to be easy and I know that you think I'm too naive to see that, but I love you and I want to be with you. Nothing else in this world can make me happy like you can, and nothing can make me happy at all if you're gone." Chandler was silent for a moment as he stared at her.  
  
"I just... I don't want you to run away from your home, your family -- everything you've known -- and toward a life that could be a lot harder than you imagine." She laced her fingers together with his.  
  
"I don't care how hard it is, as long as it's spent with you." After a moment of thoughtful silence, she obstinately declared it again. "I'm going with you."   
  
"You're sure?" he asked softly, running his fingers gently through her hair.  
  
"More so than ever before," she said bluntly. He nodded as he kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her hair. After a short pause, he leaned his head back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.  
  
"I don't understand," he said softly, his voice filled with amazement.  
  
"Don't understand what?" Monica asked gently. He was quiet for a moment before he looked into her eyes.  
  
"How can you love me in spite of what I am?" In that instant, he looked like a vulnerable man, a scared child, and a pleading puppy all in one, and Monica felt her heart wrench.  
  
"I don't," she whispered after a moment. "I don't love you in spite of what you are. I love you BECAUSE of what you are." Chandler kissed her deeply, trying to erase the fears and the doubts that nagged at his mind, and instead focused on the joy of knowing that she truly loved him and that he wasn't going to have to leave her behind.  
  
  
  
"I should go," she whispered an hour later as they realized that the sun would be up in less than two hours. He nodded and groaned slightly as she extricated herself from his embrace. She quietly slipped into her dress and then her robe, smiling when she felt Chandler take hold of her hand. She turned to face him and he grinned, sitting up against the headboard with the sheet draped over the lower half of his body.  
  
"I can't believe this," he said softly, kissing her hand gently.  
  
"Believe what?"  
  
"All of it," he confessed after a minute's consideration. "I can't believe I found you. I can't believe you love me back. But truthfully, I meant I can't believe that we're going to leave together. I thought..." He shook his head slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you forever." Monica smiled.  
  
"On the contrary. You'll never get rid of me now."  
  
"Good." He smiled as she grinned back at him. He kissed her lips gently and then kissed her hand once more.  
  
"I love you, Mon," he whispered against her skin.   
  
"I love you, too."  
  
"You're sure you want to do this?"   
  
"Yes," she answered instantly and he smiled, feeling reassured. Suddenly the idea of leaving didn't seem so horrible -- in fact, quite the opposite -- he was looking forward to starting a life with her, just the two of them. He kissed her once more.  
  
"Okay. I guess we should leave in the morning then. They're expecting me to leave Saturday afternoon, but if we wait until Saturday it will be much harder to sneak off early. Best to do it tomorrow."  
  
"That soon?" Monica asked. Chandler looked at her skeptically. "I'm not doubting," she said instantly. "Just... reiterating." He nodded.  
  
"There's a 3 a.m. train tomorrow. They run 3 a.m. trains every weekday to every major station in the northeast." Monica nodded.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked curiously. He paused.  
  
"Boston."  
  
"Boston?" He nodded.  
  
"That's where my father lives. We haven't exactly been in much contact over the past ten years, but he's the only person I know who lives in a different state, and the likelihood of him speaking to my mother is minimal. I wired him the day I found out I was going to have to leave here, because I wasn't sure about whatever job your father was going to find for me, if any. He got me a job working for a friend of his up there."  
  
"Wow," she whispered, letting it all sink in. In less than 24 hours, she'd be on her way to a strange state to start a new life with hardly any money and nothing more than the clothes and items she could pack. "Okay," she added when she saw that he still looked unconvinced. "I'm ready." He simply nodded again.   
  
"Well, the train leaves at 3 a.m., so we should leave here at about half-past two. Pack your things and bring them down to my room at two o'clock, and we'll leave for the station soon after." She nodded, feeling both terrified and exhilarated at the turn her life was about to take. She kissed him once more and smiled.  
  
"Thank you for tonight." He blushed and she smiled again. "See you at breakfast." She rose from his bed and, taking her lantern carefully from his nightstand, she left his room quietly closing the door behind her.  
  
  
  
Monica gently placed her hand-held mirror in her suitcase between her clothes so that it wouldn't get broken on the trip. She sighed and sat down on the bed next to her things. She knew that there was no way she could take everything, and being selective had turned out to be far more difficult than she'd planned. It wasn't until she tried to squeeze her life into two suitcases and a carry-on bag that she realized how little she'd be able to keep with her. The few photographs that she had she'd removed from the frames and placed inside her stationary box. She'd taken the most sensible of her clothes, knowing that regardless of what happened in Boston, she wouldn't be needing her party dresses or formal gowns. She momentarily toyed with the idea of taking her books, but knew how heavy they would be and how much space they would take, so she simply chose a few of her favorites and reluctantly left the rest behind. She glanced around the room, realizing that although she couldn't wait to be gone, she would miss both the room and her home. While she'd never gotten on well with her mother, she knew she would miss her father and her brother tremendously, not to mention Rachel. She sighed once more and rose to continue packing. She knew that if she allowed herself to reminisce or to get nostalgic all of a sudden, she might begin questioning her decision, and the bottom line was that she knew she had to be with Chandler wherever he went. After a minute's deliberation, she opened her jewelry box and studied the contents. While the jewelry she had was far from sensational, she had a few pieces that were quite elegant and if nothing else, she knew that they would be worth some money if the necessity ever arose. She stared into it for another moment before she pulled out a simple necklace that her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. While she hadn't worn it often, she loved it and it was one of her favorite items. After a slight hesitation, she reached up and clasped it around her neck, unable to leave it behind. If nothing else, it would serve as her reminder of her father and how he'd always understood her far better than anyone else. She sighed and closed the lid of the box, taking the few pieces she'd removed and putting them gently in her bag of toiletries, assuming it was the safest place for them. She threw a quick glance around the room, checking for anything she might have forgotten, and seeing nothing, bent to close and lock her cases. She straightened and grabbed her warmest coat from the closet. Despite the fact that it was June and quite warm, she knew that Boston was still probably quite chilly and it would be better to have a ridiculously warm coat than an insufficient one. She stood her baggage by the bedroom door and sat on the bed with her coat, anxiously counting down the minutes until two o'clock.  
  
Monica silently closed her bedroom door behind her and allowed her hand to linger on the doorknob for a split second longer than normal. Trying to brush away the wistful feelings at leaving the house she'd lived in all her life, she noiselessly threw her bag over her shoulder, picked up her two suitcases, and crept down the stairs. She glanced around the living room quickly, trying to ignore the memories of how many evenings she'd spent listening to her father read and playing with Ross when they were younger. She knew that as soon as she saw Chandler her doubts would ease, and she hastily walked toward the kitchen. She silently placed her suitcases inside the kitchen door and draped her coat around her shoulders, knowing that although it would be warm, it would be easier to carry that way. As she bent to lift the cases once more, she almost jumped out of her skin as a voice interrupted the silence.  
"You're up early." She froze, a feeling of pure terror wash through her as she looked up. There, illuminated by the moonlight that shone through the kitchen window and staring at her calmly, was her father.  
  
DON'T YA LOVE CLIFFHANGERS? HAVE NO FEAR, PART FIVE IS ALREADY PARTLY DONE AND WILL THEREFORE BE POSTED BY THE END OF THE WEEK (PROVIDED THAT I HIT NO MAJOR SNAGS, OF COURSE.) IT ACTUALLY MIGHT EVEN BE POSTED TONIGHT IF ALL GOES WELL! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK -- REVIEW IT! THANKS FOR READING!! :-) 


	5. Chapter Five: The Saint Takes Over

OKAY... HERE'S THE FOLLOW-UP. IT'S NOT AS LONG AS PREVIOUS PARTS, BUT IT WORKS. :-) I'M NOT SURE IF I'LL CONTINUE WITH ANOTHER PART... IT DEPENDS ON THE FEEDBACK I GET AND WHETHER OR NOT PEOPLE THINK A CONCLUSION OR EPILOGUE IS NECESSARY. ADDED TO WHICH, I HAVE OTHER FICS IN THE WORKS, SO... ONLY TIME WILL TELL, I SUPPOSE! ANYWAY, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS! :-)  
  
She stared at his silhouette, frozen in place by the combination of fear and shock. She tried to swallow, but found that her throat was not willing to cooperate. She finally found the ability to speak, but her voice was barely above a whisper and it shook just like the rest of her. "D-- Dad." She stared at him, terrified of what he was going to do. He eyed her suitcases pointedly and looked into her face once again.   
  
"Weekend holiday?" he asked quietly. She remained silent, having absolutely no idea what to say. She was completely unprepared for such an encounter -- the thought of getting caught by one or both of her parents had never entered her mind. He sighed and Monica stared at him, the panic as present as the first moment she'd realized he was there.  
  
"W-- What are you doing up?" she stammered. He looked at her for a moment, as if judging whether or not to tell her the truth.  
  
"Getting a glass of water," he said eventually. Monica stared at him momentarily, not so much doubtful as surprised. He sighed again. "Waiting for you."  
  
"Pardon?" Monica's eyes widened in surprise as she stared at him.  
  
"Your mother told me that you said you love him," he said after a moment. Taken aback, Monica could only nod. "He told me he's in love with you." She couldn't prevent the smile that crossed her face.  
  
"He did?" Jack nodded.  
  
"Yes, he did. I figured that if that were true and if what your mother said were true... well, Monica, you've always had your mother's strong will and my stubbornness. I wasn't naive enough to think that my firing the boy would diminish your determination to be with him." Monica's fear gave way to a curious confusion as she stared at her father, her brow furrowed and her luggage still tightly gripped in her hands. "I take it you're leaving with him," he said almost inaudibly. She nodded slowly.   
  
"Yes, Dad, I am. I love him and he loves me. I won't marry Peter Becker, you can't make me marry someone I don't love--"  
"I know that, Monica," he interrupted. She stared at him skeptically. He sighed. "I'm not down here to stop you." Her skepticism turned into genuine disbelief, a change that he could read on her face. "Monica, I've always wondered what would become of you. You always had the kind of spirit that I couldn't bear to see broken, and I wondered what on earth would happen if you were forced into a marriage that you didn't want." He paused. "Look, regardless of what we always say... I want you to be happy. And I'm not here to forbid you to leave. You're a woman now, not a little girl, and that's a decision that you can make for yourself. I just... I didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with my little girl gone and no goodbyes said." Monica felt her eyes fill with tears as she put her suitcases down and almost ran to him, hugging him tightly.  
  
"I love you, Daddy." He sighed into her hair as he rested his chin on top of her head.  
  
"I love you, too, sweetheart." He pulled away and looked into her eyes, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Does this boy really make you happy?" The way her eyes lit up was undeniable and it was in that moment that Jack realized that she really was leaving and that it wasn't just a "run-away-to-prove-a-point" scheme.  
  
"Yes, he does." Jack nodded and slowly removed an envelope from his pocket. He held it thoughtfully in his hands for a moment before he spoke again.  
  
"Have you been terribly unhappy with your life, Monica?"  
  
"Oh, Dad, of course not," Monica assured him. "I've been so happy. It's just... I'm older now and I want a life of my own. With Chandler."  
  
"And you're sure about him?" Monica nodded. "I just... I was only skeptical because... well, you come from such different backgrounds..."   
  
"It doesn't matter," Monica interrupted vehemently. "I love him and he loves me." Jack simply nodded and, after a moment of pensive silence, he held the envelope out toward her. "What is this?" she asked, looking up at him curiously. Jack cleared his throat.  
  
"While I'm not thrilled about allowing my little girl to run off with... well, with a strange boy, the last thing I want is for you to end up poor and homeless and God knows what else. That," he said, nodding toward the envelope, "is what we had planned on spending on your wedding and all of the parties and such." Monica's eyes widened in surprise. "It's not a fortune, by any means," he assured her. "But it's something to keep a hold on, just in case. To get your feet under you, if you will." Monica hugged him tightly again.   
  
"Thank you, Daddy." He hugged her tightly, feeling the familiar pains of a father whose daughter had become capable of living her own life.  
  
"Promise me, Monica, that this is truly what you want. If you can tell me this is the only thing that can make you happy, then I won't stop you. But don't go simply because you're angry with us, or with your mother." Monica pulled away and looked into his eyes almost pityingly.  
  
"This IS what I want, Dad," she assured him. "This is ALL I want." He nodded again and reached out for a final hug from his one and only daughter. As they parted, she bent and picked up her suitcases. "Thank you," she said softly. Not trusting his voice, which he knew would shake if he attempted to use it, he nodded slightly. "I love you, Dad." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and he watched as she headed toward Chandler's room. Unable to bear the thought of watching her leave the home he'd spent years watching her grow up in, he turned and headed toward the stairs and silently prayed that regardless of where his daughter's journey took her, she would be delivered safely.  
  
  
  
Chandler rose nervously from his bed and opened the door when he heard a timid knock. He smiled when he saw Monica standing on the other side, and he felt a certain sense of relief flood him when he saw that she actually had suitcases with her. While she'd been adamant about leaving with him, he'd been afraid that she'd end up backing out and he would eventually be forced to leave alone, without her. She smiled back slightly and she placed her suitcases down outside his door. They stared at each other in silence for a minute, both exhilarated as well as terrified of what lay in store for them.  
  
"You ready?" he asked after a moment. She nodded. He gave a slight nod and turned to pick up a few of the bags, but before he could grab the handles he felt Monica's slender arms wrap around his waist.  
  
"I love you," she whispered softly. He grinned. Every time she said it, he felt like he could sprout wings and fly away.  
  
"You know how crazy this is, right?" She smiled and nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I do." He nodded, accepting her response, and grabbed a hold of all the cases he could carry, leaving Monica with just one and her carry-on bag.  
  
  
  
As they sat in the train station awaiting the time to board, Monica nervously played with the chain around her neck.  
  
"That's pretty." Her thoughts were interrupted by Chandler's soft voice, and she smiled as he gently took the charm in his hand and looked at it closely.  
  
"My father gave it to me," she explained. He nodded.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"A St. Christopher."  
  
"A what?" Chandler asked, his brow furrowed.  
  
"A St. Christopher," she repeated, smiling. "My Dad gave it to me when I turned sixteen."  
  
"What does it mean?"  
  
"Well, people believe that St. Christopher was the saint who protected travelers. When I was younger, I always used to tell my Dad that I wanted to travel when I got older. See the world. My mother always said it was ridiculous and that I'd never have the opportunity to see the world unless I married someone rich who traveled a lot." She chuckled slightly. "You can imagine how pleased she was when, at the tender age of six, I declared that I would never marry anyone who wouldn't let me do what I wanted." Chandler grinned and remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Anyway, it was one of the things that I always said... I wanted to someday leave New York and see other parts of the country. Maybe someday even a different country altogether. So, when I turned sixteen, my Dad gave me this necklace. A St. Christopher. He told me the story behind it and said that he was sure that someday my life would take me somewhere too far for him to watch over me, and that then the St. Christopher would have to do it for him."  
  
"He knew you'd get out," Chandler said softly. Monica nodded, her eyes stinging.  
  
"Yes, he did." After a moment's uneasiness, Chandler spoke again.  
  
"Monica, if you change your mind... if you want to go back, I'll understand." She turned to face him, and he wished he could read the expression on her face. She remained silent for a short minute before speaking.  
  
"Chandler, I love my father. He's my father, and he's the person who understood me more than anyone else. But I love YOU. Yes, I'm going to miss him. Yes, I wish I didn't have to say goodbye to him and not know when or even if I'll see him again. But just because I love my father doesn't mean that I'm questioning my decision. I love you. With all my heart. And I'm going with you." He had to fight to keep from releasing the relieved sigh that was trapped in his throat. Monica smiled. "Rest assured now?" He nodded.  
  
"I just... wanted to be sure," he explained.  
  
"Well, you can be sure. I am." At that moment, the platform attendant's voice interrupted their conversation as he announced the boarding of the 3 a.m. train to Boston. Chandler felt Monica's cold hand slip into his and grip it nervously as they stared at the locomotive that would take them both into a new life, a life in which they had little more than each other.  
  
"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and followed him toward the platform. He helped her climb the stairs and pointed toward a cluster of empty seats near the back. She followed his direction and sat in the seat near the window, glancing out at the New York train station she had come to know on the odd occasions when her father used to go away. After showing the attendant their tickets, he removed his jacket and sat next to her, draping both of their coats over the arm of his seat. He followed her gaze out the window and wondered what lay in store for them. All he knew for certain was that he had the one and only thing that he'd ever truly needed and that he couldn't live without, and it was sitting in the seat next to him.  
  
  
  
WELL, THAT'S IT! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS PART! IF YOU THINK IT NEEDS ANOTHER CHAPTER, JUST SUGGEST IT IN THE REVIEW... DEPENDING ON MY OTHER FICS AND WHETHER OR NOT I FEEL THE URGE TO ELABORATE ON THEIR LIFE IN BOSTON, THERE JUST MIGHT BE A SIXTH PART, LOL. EITHER WAY, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR OPINION! THANKS FOR READING!  
  



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